


Display

by technosaurus54



Series: It Started With a Straitjacket [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series) RPF, Geek & Sundry RPF
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, Dom/sub/switch, Explicit Consent, M/M, Masochism, Sadism, Safe Word Use, Shibari, my soul is forfeit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 10:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technosaurus54/pseuds/technosaurus54
Summary: Liam, Taliesin, and Ivan...have fun.





	Display

**Author's Note:**

> Written in present tense, unbeta'd.
> 
> Makes a little more sense if you read part 3, where Taliesin is introduced.
> 
> I listened to City of the Dead by Eurielle almost exclusively while writing this.
> 
> Well, everyone wanted more Ivan/Tal/Liam...*shoves*

Display

 

“I want to try something different tonight.”

Ivan, Taliesin, and Liam are sitting in Ivan’s living room. They’re all on the couch, but Ivan has a hand on Liam’s thigh. Usually during negotiations Ivan makes a point of keeping a distance from him, but lately Ivan has been touching him more, specifically when Taliesin’s around. It’s distracting and endearing at the same time. 

“I’m listening.” Ivan says.

“I’ve been wondering about the cross.”

Liam must be imagining it, but he swears he sees Ivan’s eyes dilate.

“Oh that’s brave of you,” Taliesin grins.

“And,” he worries his lip between his teeth. “I’m itchy,” his skin is crawling, tingly. “I want to be beaten. I know I’ve never had that much pain before, but I need it. I can feel it. And I trust you." He laughs. "It sounds cliche, but I want you to make me scream.”

Liam can see the effort it’s taking Ivan to remain composed, notices the strain in his neck and feels Ivan’s grip on his thigh tighten. It’s thrilling to see the effects just his words are having on him.

“You know, we don’t really talk about the things you do to me. I mean, when I’m lost to sensation there’s no doubt yeah? But there’s other things too, that make me realize how much you affect me,” he bows his head shyly, putting on an act, but enjoying it. “You’ve got me on alert now. I never know what you’re going to make me feel. It’s been so long since I’ve felt…excited from losing control. You take care of me; in a good way. You don’t treat me like glass and yet I feel so vulnerable. I don’t know why, but so many people want to take care of me. And they do it wrong, it’s annoying. But not you.” He smiles, soft and real. He hadn’t put it into such precise words before. “You make me feel strong, Ivan. Wanted. _Desired_. In ways I never thought possible. I mean,” he vaguely gestures toward Taliesin. “I never thought I’d be brave enough for…a threesome,” he blushes, genuine this time. “And here we are. Because of you.”

There’s a pregnant pause as Ivan decides something.

“Liam, my level of care for you is—not something easily expressible with words,” he touches Liam’s shoulder, runs his fingers languidly up his neck. “But if you wish it, I can try.”

Liam nods, caught in the reverent air that has settled over Ivan.

“There are only so many hours in the universe, a finite amount of possibility in any length of time. I firmly believe that no goal is impossible. Anything can be made tangible, if you seize the right opportunity. Every second of every day for me is simply a network of decisions; realities waiting to be selected. Paths I must choose to select or ignore. That is how I see the world,” his words ring with sincerity. “But every time I’m confronted with you, Liam O’Brien, the patchwork disappears. It’s just simply: you. You are the simplest decision I ever have to make.”

It’s poetic, and moving, and tugs at the Shakespeare buried deep in Liam’s heart. There’s no reply fitting, no words that could possibly follow _that_ , so Liam just tucks himself under Ivan’s chin, makes himself smaller, and Ivan expands to accommodate him. They piece together seamlessly.

“As beautiful as that was,” Taliesin pipes in. “I’d really like to wrap Lemur in rope, so if we could get on with that?”

Ivan laughs loud and sudden, dramatic and over the top, and it sends visible ripples of fear down Taliesin’s spine.

“Oh Kitten. You have a lot to learn after all.”

If Ivan hadn’t just finished waxing poetic about how Liam was the one thing capable of quieting the universe in Ivan’s head, Liam would have pouted at being guided to stand. He was comfy dammit. But as he was utterly and completely Ivan’s in this moment, he could of course stand when he was required.

“My Treasure, tonight I will make him dance for you. Show you things only possible with his unique position. You will see a fraction of the gift you give to me; how surrender looks from the outside.”

None of this makes sense to Liam right now. But everything Ivan has said in that tone has been true before, so he has no doubts.

“And Taliesin, if you disobey me to the point that it impacts Liam negatively, I will punish you. And rest assured, I can. Marisha has given me permission.”

Real fear flashes in Taliesin’s eyes. The thought of Ivan and Marisha talking, discussing him as a naughty sub, a troublemaker, does not bode well for him.

 

“If you want real pain luv, we’re gonna have to warm you up,” Taliesin tells Liam.

They’re in the bedroom now. Taliesin and Ivan remove his clothing together, in tandem. Ivan is on his right and Taliesin is on his left. They are closing in on him, he can feel their body heat, smell their unique aromas. The world is falling away, the dim light of the room blanketing his vision. Ivan is unshakable, constant, and reliable. Taliesin is magnetic, electric, and restless, bouncing on his toes. They are both clothed, though Taliesin is wearing a collar and some leather cuffs on his wrists to signify his dual status. He’s mentioned before how visual cues were important in the circles he ran in. Only now does Liam make the connection.

The sheets are cool against his skin, centering him before he takes the plunge. He’s face down, naked, not just before Ivan, but Taliesin too. He’s naked in front of Taliesin. _Taliesin._

“It’s exciting isn’t it Lemur?” Taliesin runs a hand down his flank. “I can feel you quivering. It’s adorable." 

Liam shivers. Yes he’s hyper aware of Taliesin, but he’s also focused on Ivan. Ivan’s confession is branded onto his brain now, that resigned and honest look of possession fresh in his mind. He shifts his head and stares up, reaching out to him.

“Yes, I’m right here,” Ivan brings Liam’s hand to his lips, whispers against his skin. “We’re going to make you fly.”

And on cue Taliesin’s gentle strokes become edged with blunt nails. Liam lets out a shaky breath. He’s doing this. He’s actually doing this.

“Good,” purrs Ivan.

Liam gets lost in his breath, Taliesin stroking and kneading and generally touching him all over. Ivan stands to the side of the bed, observing the scene with a cool gaze.

“You’re so lanky. It’s going to take some time to truly mark you up. But don’t worry; I’m patient with my victims.”

Taliesin’s teasing is nothing like Ivan’s at all. Ivan is steady and deep, dark and expansive like the ocean; and Liam is quite content to float serenely or just as easily get lost in the tide. Taliesin is different. He’s capricious, unpredictable. Flashy and bright and yet hypnotizing. Like a flame.

Taliesin rolls Liam over and then smothers him with his weight. Kissing Taliesin is getting addictive; he’s so responsive, needy and demanding in a way that keeps Liam more grounded than when he’s lost in Ivan. Submitting to Ivan is natural, comes so easy for him. So far things with Taliesin were more reciprocal, a tug of war.

“He’s fighting you Kitten. I can see it.” Ivan’s voice is laced with amusement. “You have to _earn_ his favor. Find his buttons.”

Liam moans at the sound of Ivan’s voice, low and steady.

“Oh you like dirty talk hmm? You like to hear how gorgeous you look, naked and bare and shaking beneath me?”

Liam whines and nods.

“That’s unexpected. You’re so quick to divert attention away from you normally. But here,” Taliesin runs his nails lightly over his chest, pinches each nipple. “You want it. You want me to know how desperate you are. How much of a greedy slut you are. And just look at you,” he grabs his cock in a light grip. “You’re dripping already.”

Liam is panting, caught in the heat of Taliesin’s hands and the smugness of his laughter. He arches into the touch, gripping the sheets beneath him. Ivan is by his side again, handing something to Taliesin. He hears the soft sound of rope unwinding and stops breathing.

“That’s right Treasure. We’re going to tie you up.”

“The black rope will contrast so nicely against his skin,” Taliesin remarks.

It’s been a long time since he was all decked out in wraps and ties. As much as he loved the all engulfing hug of the straitjacket, the precise placement of each silken strand pinning him in place was cathartic. Each pass of the wrap spiraling him down further and further into the tranquil head space he longed for.

 

Taliesin spends a good ten minutes decorating Liam; crisscrossing and weaving intricate patterns to please Ivan.

Ivan observes quietly, assessing Taliesin’s manner and attitude. Thus far Ivan was removed and distant towards him, only doting on Liam. Their moment of bonding earlier was touching, but it made Taliesin ache. He’d been content to prance happily between dominant and submissive with Marisha and Matt, but now he found himself wanting to choose. Wanting the singular focus of a protective, possessive force.

“You’re doing well Kitten,” Ivan interjects Taliesin’s train of thought. “Finish that knot and then kneel,” he indicates a spot in the center of the room.

The cross is out and prepared for Liam already, and it takes next to no time for Ivan to secure Liam to it. He’s stunning, breathtaking. It’s obvious how far gone is he when Ivan has to verbally request each wrist to be shackled. When he’s all splayed out, the black pentagram on his chest focal and defined, he makes a fine display.

Ivan checks him, tests the color of his fingers and toes, makes sure he’s evenly distributed. Liam is experienced with being bound, so Taliesin trusts that his “Green,” is well founded. Ivan gives him one lingering kiss before stalking away towards Taliesin kneeling on the floor. 

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Ivan asks, carding his fingers through Taliesin’s hair. “You did well. Would you like a turn?”

“Yes please,” Taliesin responds eagerly. He wants desperately now to prove his worth. Wants to earn more praise from this enigmatic man.

He knows it’s going to be a challenge. Ivan is a true Dom through and through; he’s confident in his authority, no room to be called out on. There is no flexibility in the way Taliesin can respond to commands. The level of submission Ivan expects from Liam is something Taliesin hasn’t done for a very long time. He’s not sure he remembers how, so used to getting what he wants, when he wants; using his voracious talents to his own advantage. Convincing whatever acting Dom he’s chosen that experience is preferable over outright compliance. But that won’t work with Ivan; his control is absolute and thus his favor won’t be won by clever tricks. He has to submit fully.

“Treasure,” Ivan draws Liam’s attention. “Pay attention.”

Ivan stalks around Taliesin, arranges him so Liam can see both of them easily, as he can’t move much except his neck. Taliesin doesn’t know what to expect. Is Ivan going to be rough? Is he going to be forceful and demanding? Is he going to be gentle and patient? Will he get bored with him?

“I can hear you thinking Kitten,” Ivan states, still not touching him. “You know what you need to do.” Ivan’s hands are behind his back, his chin elevated, but his eyes stare down at him, making him feel small. So Taliesin prostrates himself further, resting his forehead on Ivan’s boots.

“Please sir, help me. I want to serve you but I don’t know what you want.”

Ivan laughs. “Oh, confused you have I?” Ivan nudges the side of Taliesin's head with his boot. “Very well, since you asked so nicely. Strip.” Ivan orders.

The command is intentionally simple, with room for interpretation. He’s letting Taliesin decide in what manner he will obey. Allowing him room to adjust and impress him. He knows he’s being closely watched, can see the fixed gaze of Ivan boring into him. And yet he can still feel Liam’s presence, hears him panting, and realizes then that the key to pleasing Ivan is through Liam.

He stands and politely bow to Ivan before turning completely towards the cross.

“You’ve never seen me naked before have you Lemur? Surprisingly it’s not something I do easily.” He scoffs, self depreciating. “It’s not easy to get naked in front of someone.” Instead of putting on a show, Taliesin simply pulls back each layer of clothing, tossing it onto the floor near the bed. His actions aren’t flashy or doctored, but humble and honest. He lets it show how anxious he feels as every patch of skin is revealed; every pock mark, scar, stretch mark, and fold of skin. Lets it show how vulnerable he feels. And with each layer Taliesin feels the long forgotten decent into submission.

“Good boy,” he feels rather than hears Ivan’s praise. He was so caught up in the expression of empathy coming from Liam as he laid himself bare that he almost forgot about Ivan. Impossible to now though, as Ivan touches him carefully, reverently, caressing him lightly, avoiding obvious areas that might spook Taliesin. It is a delicate dance, tipping over into the deep. And though Liam is clearly entranced, Taliesin has a way to go. Ivan’s care with him, the acknowledgement of his experience, soothes lingering anxiety he wasn’t aware he had. He sighs, melts a little, and gives in.

Ivan places a tender kiss against his neck. He’s being claimed and it sinks into Taliesin's bones. A tendril of desire settles into him as he’s turned around, drawn into a fierce kiss.

“There,” Ivan says. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Taliesin wants to object, to laugh, to act out and make trouble but instead he finds himself kneeling again on all fours, looking up, allowing Ivan to choose whether to look down at him or strait ahead at Liam.

“Such a good Kitten,” Ivan praises. “You belong on the floor. While my Treasure here,” Ivan treads around Taliesin, walks his fingers up Liam's abdomen, and into Liam's mouth. “He belongs on display.”

 

Liam is content to simply dangle from his perch, watch as Taliesin shreds his clothing like armor. He sees the moment when things change for him, when Taliesin becomes fully aware of his position, and that moment of entropy ignites something inside him; sends a ripple of energy through him. So that now, as Ivan presents fingers which he immediately starts sucking, the spell breaks, shatters, and suddenly he needs more.

“Please,” he begs. “Please hurt me.”

He whimpers, looking first at Ivan and then down at Taliesin.

Ivan motions for Taliesin to stand, and when he does Liam knows that the transition for Taliesin is complete; his eyes are glazed but his movements are focused, precise, and measured. Taliesin releases the latches, and Ivan catches him, flips him around easily, a practiced movement, as if they’d worked together before.

The pattern that Taliesin has woven across his frame is primarily anchored on the front of his body so the entirety of his thighs, ass, and lower back are bare of rope, and just a few arches are across his upper back. After the stability of the cross against his back, the open air chills him.

And then Ivan is walking into the closet. He comes out holding several leather instruments; a thick black strap, a knotted flogger, and, Liam’s breath catches, a bull whip.

“You’re not seriously going to whip him are you?”

Taliesin ask brashly. Ivan must look at him reproachfully because immediately Taliesin apologizes.

“I’m sorry sir.”

“No,” Ivan corrects. “This is for you.”

Liam hears the crack of the whip out of his line of sight, and the shock of the sound ripples through his body; a terrified cry escapes him.

“No! Yellow! Yellow!”

Ivan steps back into his view, assesses the look on his face, and then Ivan’s features soften, relax. “Too much?” His tone is different, neutral, calming.

Liam nods. “Too much. Not tonight. Put it away.” Liam whispers, feels sheer panic at the edge of his consciousness. He’s frozen, doesn’t feel his body anymore.

So Ivan walks back to the closet and comes back with the whip gone.

“You’re alright.” He tenderly kisses Liam, wipes away the building moisture in his eyes. He spends a few minutes stroking and touching him and gradually the room comes back into focus.

 

Ivan lays out the leather implements on the bed behind Liam and he hears Taliesin pick one up, test it on his hand, through the air, and then feels the smooth glide of the thick leather strap trace his ankle, the inside of his thigh, all the way up to his neck. Ivan is in front of him, in full view, still clothed, still serene, still in control.

The first slap is light and Liam barely feels it. Ivan nods and the next one is much harder. It’s pleasant, and it sinks into Liam’s core.

“More,” he growls. Ivan laughs.

Again and again Taliesin unleashes into him. He clearly knows what he’s doing, keeps the rhythm even but alternates the strike areas. He can expect when the next blow is going to land but is surprised by the sensation of where. This delicate balance of predictable anticipation mixed with mild uncertainty has Liam on edge, until he’s writhing, seeing red; it’s not enough yet.

“More!” he shouts. He’s chasing that sensation he knows will come. He’s never endured this kind of pain, has never been properly beaten, and god is it a rush.

Ivan is transfixed, predatory, staring strait into his soul. His posture is focused, hawkish. Powerful. 

“More!” he shouts again.

The next hit lands with a hiss of breath, the knotted ends of the flogger delivering that first rush of adrenaline that stops his train of thought and whips across his senses.

“Faster!” he says. And Taliesin lays into him.

Soon he’s moaning, crying out, grinding into the cross furiously, rocking his shoulders to feel the coiled resistance of the ropes and it’s almost enough.

Time passes, he is unsure how long he has been up on the cross, how many times he’s been beaten by leather, but he wants more, is so close. His hands are clenching and releasing. It seems impossible to communicate what he needs; he doesn’t know exactly, he just knows it’s not enough.

After intensely studying his body language, Ivan smiles proudly, heads back into the closet, and comes out carrying what looks like a thin piece of bamboo.

“Yes, please!"

Taliesin gasps.

“Step aside Kitten,” Ivan orders.

And then Ivan disappears from his view.

The first crack of the cane is like ice, so sharp in sensation it highlights how his back is burning. He yelps and suddenly Taliesin is in his vision, stroking his hair back from his eyes, whipping the sweat away with a cloth.

“Breath,” he instructs.

He takes a deep breath, shudders, and then nods to Taliesin, who looks briefly back at Ivan.

The second crack is lower, across his thighs, and this time he screams. Taliesin is hovering, he can feel his breath, stroking him and petting him and occasionally grasping his hand, a comforting tether to reality as he rapidly climbs higher and higher with each progressive hit from the cane. He can hear Ivan grunting, the effort of beating him with precision drawing sounds out of him.

After what feels like hours of flagellation, Ivan touches a palm to Liam’s back, and after the intensity of razor quick lines, the uneven planes of Ivan’s hand feels like a brand. He sobs brokenly, arching into the cross, heaving and desperately seeking something.  

“We’re going to take you down now. Give me a color.”

“Green,” Liam pants, thankful for the prompt. Language is beyond him at this point. It feels surreal, like he’s being peeled off a wall. Every movement of his muscles is agonizing, sends ripples and currents of sensations cascading through his body. When he’s laid back onto the sheets faced down he’s sobbing, crying, desperately writhing, needing something, gripped suddenly by this feeling of absence. He’s never felt it before, it doesn’t make any sense. He thought flying was the pinnacle of surrender, that the pain would send him soaring into euphoria, but it’s torture instead. He’s leaking, aching, mad with desire, stripped down to a primal being of need.

He’s almost hyperventilating, but Ivan steadies him again, takes his face between his palms.

“Liam, count down from ten with me,”

And each number brings clarity, each second he doesn’t think he’ll be able to compose himself enough, grasp onto his fleeting sanity long enough to make it to the next number. But the patience and utter faith in Ivan’s gaze seizes him and he makes it all the way to one.

“Good boy,” Ivan croons, pride flashing again on his face.

He isn’t panicking anymore; he is calmer but still raged, still acutely aware of himself. A sheet has been draped over his back, and he’s guided up to sit, encouraged to drink water.

“It stings,” he says, after drinking a full glass.

“Stings? It _stings_?” Taliesin asks incredulously.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

Ivan kisses him lovingly, hungrily, and the intense madness is gone. In its place is a gently roaring fire, a desire to be filled. 

He giggles into Ivan’s kiss.

“Can you fuck me now?”

Ivan laughs loud and real. “If you’d like. Though I was hoping Taliesin here would earn that honor."

Liam gnaws at his lip.

“Well as long as I get fucked by someone tonight.”

Both of them laugh.

“Well Kitten, sounds like you have work to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> So there is more, but I just had to get this out there first.
> 
> Everyone begged and I obliged. So far is it everything you wanted?


End file.
